Harry Potter and the Deleted Scenes
by Gilles Estram
Summary: A whimsical take on the ending scenes of Deathly Hallows.
1. The Forest Again

_Chapter 34¾_

**The Forest Again**

"No sign of him, my lord," said Antonin Dolohov as he rejoined the circle of Death Eaters in the clearing.

"I thought he would come," said Lord Voldemort softly, casting his serpentine eyes down in disappointment, "I expected him to come. All this waiting has bored me. Someone amuse me."

The Death Eaters shifted uneasily amongst their ranks. None of them had ever quite understood the Dark Lord's sense of humour and his unreliable moods almost always guaranteed a horrible end for anyone who tried and failed to entertain him.

"Rowle," Voldemort turned to the huge blond wizard crouching near the fire, "tell me a joke."

As Rowle clambered to his feet and began to slowly approach the Dark Lord, the other Death Eaters felt both relieved for not having been selected for a comic round of sudden-death and sorry for the imminent fate of their colleague, whose magical abilities and capacity for cruelty were legendary, but whose repertoire of japes would fail to amuse even a child.

"Knock, knock," Rowle began tentatively.

"Who's there?" asked Voldemort, his expectations low.

"You-Know," Rowle continued the routine.

"You-Know-Who?" the Dark Lord played his part.

A few seconds of absolute silence followed as the Death Eaters waited apprehensively for Voldemort to realise that he had just uttered the joke's punch line. Rowle held his breath and surreptitiously curled his fingers around the wand in his pocket, preparing to try to defend himself against the Dark Lord's displeasure. As the tension built to an unbearable crescendo, Voldemort's voice broke the silence. It was not an incantation for a horrific curse as they had all expected, but rather a shrill laugh that reverberated around the clearing, ruffling the trees. The Death Eaters joined in with their booming cackles and Rowle, his fears alleviated, slumped back onto the grimy ground next to the fire.

As the laughter died down, Voldemort turned and pointed a long bony finger at the wizard holding Hagrid's leash. "Yaxley," he commanded, "it's your turn."

The oft-attention-seeking Yaxley bowed his head and was grateful for this opportunity to impress his master. He was both confident in his comedic faculties and eager to move up into the higher echelons as the demise of Severus Snape had recently left a position vacant.

"A wizard, a goblin and a centaur go into a pub," he began, "and each orders a butterbeer. Somehow a fly lands in each of their mugs. The wizard waves his wand and the fly disappears. The goblin drinks the fly with his beer. And the centaur picks the fly up, shakes it and shouts, 'Spit it out, you bastard, spit it out!'"

The Death Eaters burst into another booming round of laughter, but it was cut short when they suddenly noticed that Voldemort was not laughing. Indeed, the Dark Lord, his face stern and unforgiving, had the Elder wand raised and directed at Yaxley who was gradually shrinking away from the circle, but too terrified to actually make a run for it. Before Voldemort could kill this failure of a sycophant, however, a voice thundered from behind him and his mood was elevated immediately.

"I thought that was funny," said Harry Potter courageously, stepping from the shadows.

The Death Eaters fell silent as Voldemort turned to face his nemesis.

"Harry Potter," he rasped, "the boy who lived. Come to die."

Harry closed his eyes and stood with his arms wide open, welcoming death. He was ready. But after half a minute had passed and Voldemort had made no move to kill him, Harry opened one eye for a peek.

The dark wizard was standing there, in the centre of a circle made up of his followers, casting his eyes wildly about as if looking for something. The truth was that Voldemort had been so excited about finally getting to kill Harry Potter that he had temporarily forgotten the incantation for the killing curse. As his Death Eaters eyed him confusedly and began muttering amongst themselves, he knew he had to act.

Desperately trying to remember the incantation, he raised the Elder wand, pointed it at Harry Potter and roared, "ABRACADABRA!"

Harry was flabbergasted. Floating in front of him in the cold damp air, inches away from his face, was an old playing card with slightly torn edges. Harry reached out a trembling hand and plucked it out of the air. He examined it closely and saw that it was a seven of spades.

"I meant to do that," said Voldemort defensively. "Is that your card?"

"Yes it is," Harry replied, "but can we please get to the part where you kill me?"

The hilarity of the situation was too much to bear for Dolohov and he started sniggering uncontrollably. His timing could not have been worse, for at precisely that moment, the Dark Lord remembered the killing curse's incantation and a flash of green light lit up the clearing. Dolohov's lifeless form collapsed onto the muddy forest floor, a grin still visible on his face.

Having punished the insolence of his follower, Voldemort turned his attention back to his archenemy. Now the boy would die. At last.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" he roared and a second flash of green exploded from his wand.


	2. King's Cross

_Chapter 35_

**King's Cross**

Lord Voldemort was lying on the floor. It was not a true floor, as such. It was made of a cloudy vapour. The Dark Lord blinked. The same cloudy vapour was everywhere around him. Groaning ever so faintly, he stood up. Looking around, he could see that he was alone. His Death Eaters were nowhere to be seen. His reptilian eyes frantically scanned his surroundings for any sign of Harry Potter, the boy whom he had murdered mere moments ago. The boy was not there. He was truly alone.

He took a step forward, and objects began to take shape from the formless vapour. He took another step. And then another. And another. There was a bench in front of him. He walked over to it and sat down. This strange experience was trying his patience. He did not want to be here. He had finally destroyed the one wizard who could have stopped him. He had a war to win. He did not have time to sit on a bench. He needed to leave. He needed his wand.

As Voldemort reached into his robes to search for the Elder wand, a slow greasy voice startled him.

"The wand still isn't yours, you know," said Severus Snape snidely, "it never was mine."

"Severus!" Voldemort exclaimed as the former headmaster of Hogwarts walked towards him, his dark cloak billowing in the wind. But there was no wind. Still, the Dark Lord could not care less about the existence of wind. Severus Snape, whom Nagini had killed, was standing in front of him. "But you're dead!"

"Don't remind me," snarled Snape.

"But if you're here," Voldemort grew impatient, "and I'm here… But I can't be dead. I am Lord Voldemort. I cannot die."

"You're still alive," Snape calmly sat down next to Voldemort on the bench. "Well, if whatever it is that you have can be called a life."

"Where are we exactly?" Voldemort asked irascibly.

"I was going to ask you that," said Snape, looking around. "Where would you say that we are?"

Voldemort suddenly found that he recognised the place. It had been a long time since he was here last, but it was unmistakable. "It looks like King's Cross Station," he answered, "except a lot cleaner than I remember it."

"Oh yes, of course," Snape remarked casually, "they've hired a new janitorial squad from Poland. The station's spotless now."

Quickly losing interest in the current topic of conversation, Voldemort prompted Snape, "You say that the wand isn't mine. Why?"

"I'm not going to tell you," Snape shook his greasy head. "I only wanted you to know that killing me was pointless."

The Dark Lord was infuriated. He would not stand for this. He had wasted so much of his life trying to kill one single pathetic boy wizard. He did not need Snape to taunt him posthumously. "I have to go back," he announced with finality.

"That is up to you," Snape stood up and began to walk away. "We are in King's Cross, you say. If you decided not to go back, you should be able to board a train."

"I am the heir of Slytherin," Voldemort dismissed the idea, "I do not take public transport."

Snape continued to walk, letting his black cloak billow in the non-existent wind.

"One last thing, Severus," Voldemort called out to his former servant, "is this real or has this been happening inside my head?"

Snape stopped and turned around, whirling his cloak dramatically. "Of course it is happening inside your head, you insane mass-murdering wretch," his voice rang loudly across the station, which was now dissolving back into the cloudy vapour.


	3. The Flaw in the Plan  Part 1

_Chapter 36¼_

**The Flaw in the Plan – Part 1**

"I don't need your help," growled Lord Voldemort as Bellatrix Lestrange was deferentially assisting him to his feet. He roughly pushed her aside and strode swiftly towards the unmoving body of Harry Potter. Then, pausing, he decided that, instead of ascertaining that the boy is dead himself, which would have saved him a lot of bother in the near future, he would send someone else to do it for him whilst he took this chance to resolve the outstanding issue of Bellatrix's ridiculously overt shows of affection.

"You," Voldemort gestured towards Narcissa Malfoy. "Examine him," he commanded. He felt that he could trust her testament. After all, he had been exceptionally beneficent to her family: he had appropriated their manor for his Death Eater meetings, taken and broken her husband's wand, and would have succeeded in forcing her precious son into committing a murder had that meddlesome Snape not interfered. That kind of special treatment could only have been indicative of his disproportionate goodwill.

As Narcissa approached and crouched down to inspect the boy, the Dark Lord turned to face his most dedicated follower. "Bella, I love you," he said softly and Bellatrix turned bright red with tears welling up in her eyes, "is what I would say if I was a sparkly gay vampire who looked exactly the same as Cedric Diggory. But I'm not. So I want to make it very clear that it would never work out between us. You are my most loyal and valuable servant, but that's the extent of this relationship. Are we clear?"

"Yes, my lord," Bellatrix muffled a sob and bowed reverentially before taking a step back to meld into the circle of Death Eaters. Satisfied that she had taken it so well, Voldemort returned his attention to Harry Potter, who still lay motionless on the muddy ground.

Narcissa rose and, slowly turning her head, announced with affected conviction, "Dead."


End file.
